


isolate

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:48:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're all mine, to do with as I please."</p>
            </blockquote>





	isolate

“Look at you.”

The voice is a low, raspy snarl, near-grating on Soldier: 76’s ears; he sets his teeth against the cloth gag forced between them and keeps his eyes stubbornly on the floor, not wanting to give his captor the satisfaction of seeing his face.

It’s bad enough he’d gotten jumped in the first place--knocked out and tied up and slung against a wall in an old abandoned outpost, with his pulse rifle across the room and only his age to blame. 

“You’re a disgrace.” 

The thud of the silver-capped boots pacing in front of him only makes 76’s headache worse; he growls behind the gag, winces at the sharp pain that stabs into his side. Broken ribs, maybe. 

“You always were--always hid behind your rank, looked the other way when things went south. Always left it for everyone else to clean up, because you were too busy smiling for all the cameras.”

He can hear the other man spit; can practically feel his disgust. His words make 76’s own skin crawl, because he knows that some part of them is true. He resists the urge to look up as the other figure drops to a crouch in front of him--until sharp talons grab his chin and wrench his head up, meet his angry glare with a bone-white mask.

“You were their _golden boy_ ,” Reaper spits, the words turned to venom in his mouth; he lunges forward to get right in 76’s face, their breath intermingling as he hisses, “ _Overwatch_ \--the house that Jack built. But who laid your foundation, Morrison? Eh? Who did the dirty work so you could keep your gloves _clean_?”

Reaper pulls away again, turning to pace the floor; 76 watches him warily, and takes no comfort in the feeling he gets--that neither one of them are really in control here. He looks down at himself, tries to discreetly wiggle his bound arms to get at the communicator pack on his belt; his fingers brush vacant leather where the pack should be, and he looks up at Reaper’s cackling laugh to see the pack held in one of his big fists.

“Looking for this, Jack?” he growls; he crushes the pack in his hand, then throws the bits against the far wall. They bounce along the dirty ground and spark feebly, then die in the darkness. “It won’t help you.”

“Overwatch isn’t coming for you--no one is,” Reaper snarls, coming back to 76 and crouching again; 76 swallows down his rising fear at the raw anger held in that rasping voice, the malice that darkens it, the way he can see red eyes gleaming behind the black of the mask. “Right now, it’s just you and me.”

Reaper sets a clawed hand on 76’s face, stroking over his cheek almost delicately; his razor-sharp talon slices neatly through the stubble on his jaw, and the resulting dribble of blood is enough to turn his scarred lips up in a hidden, crooked smile. 

“You’re all mine, to do with as I please.”


End file.
